Beating Around the Bush
by Flagg1991
Summary: Luna has a serious question for her gf Sam; can she gather the stones to ask it, or will she put it off yet again? Meanwhile, Maggie struggles with a potentially relationship ending decision and Lincoln amps himself up to ask Stella out. Suna, Luaggie, Stellacoln.
1. If You Dare

Luna dragged herself out of bed on a dreary Monday morning and shambled to the bathroom like a zombie, clad only in a purple tank top and yellow panties covered in purple polka dots. She bumped into someone, said, "'Scuse me, bro," and realized as she stumbled away that it wasn't a bro, it was a doorframe.

The line for the can was six deep, Lincoln at the front and Lola just ahead of her, arms crossed and her foot tapping restlessly against the floor. Luna yawned, stretched, and scratched her butt. She smacked her lips and winced; aw, man, righteous morning breath. What did she eat last night, ass?

Actually, lol, she sneaked out and went over to Sam's, where they spent most of the night playing their instruments...and their guitars too ;)

The door opened and Leni came out with a towel wrapped around her head, which made her look like a terrorist. Lincoln slipped in, closed the door behind him, and the line moved up a step.

Luna didn't go over to Sam's house just to hang, she went with a purpose, but she got cold feet on the way there and decided to put it off for a while. Just like she had five times already. Hey, six is a nice, even number, right?

Maybe seven would be the charm.

When her turn came, she used the loo, brushed her teeth, and rolled some DO onto her pits. She checked herself out in the mirror to make sure she didn't have any drool crusted on her lips or something, and nodded her satisfaction. Back in her room, she rifled through her dresser for something to wear while Luan pulled her socks and shoes on. Like Luna, Luan was gay af. Luna caught her and this girl named Maggie making out a few weeks ago. Luan tried to pass it off like they were just tickle fighting, but Luna wasn't buying. _Admit it, bro, you're a dyke. _

Maggie, ashamed, threw the blanket over her head, and Luan glared. _No! We're just friends! _Two days later, Luna walked in on them _again_. _You really gotta learn to lock the door, _Luna said, and Luan jumped a foot.

_Fine, _Luan said and hung her head. She and Maggie sat side by side, the blankets pooled around their waists. She took Maggie's hand for support, threaded their fingers together, and sighed deeply. _We're gay, _she said soberly.

_Sweet, _Luna said, _so am I._

Luan gaped. _You?_

_Sure am, bro, _Luna said and dropped onto the edge of her bed. _I'm an ass and titty girl myself. Love it when a chick has a big rack. _

_B-B-But…_

_Why do you think I hang out at Sam's so much? _She held her arms out in front of her and humped the air for emphasis.

Luan looked at her like she couldn't possibly comprehend the thought of Luna being gay. _Really? How long? _

_My whole life, dude, my whole life. _

That wasn't really true, but in a way, it kind of was. Being gay, as far as Luna knew, didn't just happen - you're born with it - but sometimes it takes you a while to figure it out. For the longest time, she thought she liked boys, then, right after getting into rock, she made out with a girl at a KISS concert...and that's when she knew. She'd been with a few girls over the past two years, but she never felt even a fraction of what she felt for Sam. It was a constant, nonstop ache in her chest that never went away, and the only thing that could dull it was being with Sam: Holding her hand, hearing her voice, and kissing her lips. When they were together, Luna felt _free_...and when they were apart, it was like being slowly crushed in a vise: Chest tightening, lungs withering, spirit dying, stomach fluttering...oh, man, that last one was the worst. Like a thousand butterflies flapping their wings against her gut walls in perfect, hateful harmony.

Is that what being in love felt like? Like you're drowning when you're not with your girl? Like there's a hollow spot in her soul when she's not around? Like you can't sit still?

She didn't like it, and there was only one way she saw to cure it.

_How come you never told me? _Luan asked

That made Luna chuckle. _What are you, the crotch watch? Why didn't you tell me _you're _gay? _

Unlike many young gays, Luna did not fear coming out to her family - Mom and Dad were old school liberals who accepted everyone and taught their children to do likewise - but, honestly, she didn't feel like it was anyone's business but hers. And also...ya know...talking to your parents about _anything _having to do with sex...awwwwwkward. In seventh grade, Mom gave her "the talk" and oh my God, that was most uncomfortable shit ever.

Presently, she yanked a purple skirt from drawer and pulled it on, hips wiggling as she slid it up her shapely thighs. Luan tied her laces, got to her feet, and picked her phone up from the nightstand. "You and Sam wanna do something with me and Mags after school?" she asked.

After her chat with Luan and Maggie, Luna brought up the idea of them double dating some time. "Nah, man, not today, I got…" she trailed off as her eyes fell across the small box sitting on the dresser. "I got something to do," she finished resolutely. Seventh time's the charm, and brother, today was gonna be _real _charming.

Luan picked her backpack up off the floor and slung it over her shoulder. "I thought you did that last night," she said playfully.

Like any good sister, Luan covered for Luna when she snuck out to be with Sam, which Luna really appreciated. She didn't steal away very often, and when she did, she made sure to wait until Mom and Dad were in bed. That way she'd have a less likely chance of being caught, and Luan wouldn't have to run around making up crazy excuses for why Luna wasn't around...or dressing up like her.

Which she totally did. Linc had a trunk full of clothes and wigs under his bed.

Sometimes Luna wondered about him too…

Anyway, she didn't sneak out of the house frequently, but when she did, it was only to see Sam. Both of them were totally straight edge and vowed never to do drugs or drink. Some people might think that made them lame, but you wanna know what's _really _lame? Being so fucked up on LSD you thrash around on the floor screaming about bat country and shit. You know why rock stars drink and do drugs? It's not to be "cool," it's to cope. With fame. Fortune. Depression. You name it. Luna wasn't famous, she wasn't rich, and she _sure _as hell wasn't depressed. What could coke and molly give her that she didn't have already? Euphoria? She felt that every time Sam kissed her. Roaring good will? She got that when Sam said _I love you. _Forgetting her worries?

Bro...what worries?

Oh, sure, she had normal first world problems like anyone, but overall, she was doing okay. Great family, lots of friends, sexy girl~

"Nah, this is something else," she said. She grabbed the box and slipped it into her skirt pocket. She picked up her iPod and dropped it in too, then slipped one of the buds into her ear. ""Something serious. I'm kinda nervous." She chuckled humorlessly.

"What?" Luan asked, her voice softening.

Luna considered telling her, but shook her head. "It's nothing. I'll tell you later."

Luan hesitated, then shrugged. "Alright. Good luck with whatever it is."

"Thanks."

After Luan left, Luna grabbed her bag and went downstairs, the sweet sounds of Megadeth serenading one side of her brain. In the dining room, everyone sat around the table eating cereal. Pop-Pop, who'd been crashing with Lincoln ever since his nursing home burned down, was at the head, clad in tan trousers and a white T-shirt. He scanned the paper and sipped from a mug of coffee.

"Come on," Lori urged and batted her eyelashes, "show us those epic roast skills you keep talking about."

Roasting your siblings in the morning was a storied Loud family tradition going back to, like, July 2017 or something. Every day, one sister (or brother) took her (or his) place on the chopping block, and everyone went hard until it was time to leave...or the whipping boy (or girl) rage quit their breakfast.

Pop-Pop flipped a page. "Nah," he said, "I'm not gonna roast my grandkids." He chuckled heartily. "That'd be awful."

"More like you _can't," _Lola sniffed.

"I could," Pop-Pop demurred, "I just don't want to."

"He lost his sense of humor when Mom and Dad stuck him in that nursing home," Lynn said with an evil grin. "Not much to laugh about in there."

Everyone _ooooh_ed and looked at Pop-Pop. A scarlet blush tinged his cheeks - you know you're getting a Loud mad when you see that - and he forced a tight chuckle. "I agreed to go in there on my own."

"They dumped him on the curb along with all his crap," Lori said. "Well...what they didn't throw away."

Luna went into the kitchen, grabbed a bowl, and filled it with Kix. She poured milk on top and went back into the dining room, sitting in the open seat next to Lisa.

Pop-Pop folded his paper and set it on the table, his movements slow and deliberate, like a snake getting ready to strike. "That's enough," he said firmly.

"He, like, can't take the heat," Leni said.

Pop-Pop's face turned bright red and his hands fisted on the table.

"We better knock it off, girls," Lola said, "he might have another heart attack."

Wow, were they really doing this to _Pop-Pop? _Holy shit. This is, like, uncanny valley shit or something.

"Too bad he's too poor to leave us an inheritance," Lori said.

"Some grandparents are worth more dead," Lana said, "but he's worthless either way."

Pop-Pop jumped to his feet, the chair falling back and the table shaking when he slammed his open hands down onto it. "I knew I should have stayed with your aunt Roberta. Her kids aren't a bunch of misbehaved ingrates like you. You want a roast? Lynn, you're never going to be anything in sports. You're mediocre just like your uncle Bill. You know what he does these days? He's an alcoholic because he can't handle his failure of a life. Leni, you know what I can't handle? Pretending that your mother didn't drop you on your head when you were a baby. She did. Several times."

Leni blinked and Pop-Pop turned to Lori. "You look just like your mother when she was your age. You know what that means? You're gonna be obese when you're forty. And your pizza boy hombre will be just like your father - a balding cuck with low testosterone who can't even get it up. Lana, I'd be offended if anyone else said that, but since you walk around with dog shit smeared on your teeth, I can't take you seriously."

Finally, he looked at Lola, and she recoiled in holy fear. "Remember all the times I said I was sick so I couldn't go to your pageants? I lied. I couldn't stand to see you lose to Lindsey Sweetwater anymore. You parade around here and say you're the best...if you were the best, you'd win every once in a while. You're garbage. Blonde, airhead, gap-tooth garbage stuffed into a hand-me-down pink dress from the Salvation Army and a plastic playset crown. At least I have a heart to _have _a heart attack. You have nothing but an undeservedly swollen ego and a room full of paperweight trophies because out of ten ugly little girls, you just happened to be the _least _ugly that day."

Everyone gaped at him.

He snatched his coffee and some splashed over the rim. "There's your goddamn roast," he said and stormed out.

For a moment, everyone looked at each other...then went back to eating. "Ours were better," Lynn said matter-of-factly, "I've heard that peaked in high school line before."

"Everyone always says that about my crown," Lola said.

Leni touched her chin. "Mom dropped me?"

"She dropped _all _of us," Lori said. "Remember when she dropped Lincoln on the kitchen floor?"

Leni giggled. "He, like, screamed for an hour."

"She dropped Lana on the ice, then Lana slid away," Lori said. "Almost went in the road."

Everyone laughed.

Precious memories, man, precious memories.

After breakfast, Luna took her bowl to the sink, stacked it on top of the others, and went into the living room, where Pop-Pop watched _Good Morning America. _Everyone else was lined up at the door, shrugging into their coats, pulling on their rain boots, and digging through their bags to make sure they had everything. "You kids have a good day," he said.

Before leaving, everyone went over to Pop-Pop and kissed him on the cheek. When Lincoln tried, Pop-Pop pushed him away. "Don't be a fag," he said and held out his hand, palm facing up. "Gimme some skin."

Lincoln smirked and slapped Pop-Pop's palm.

Outside, the day was cold and damp, the few leaves remaining in the trees along Franklin faded and washed out shades of yellow and orange. Luna paused on the porch, zipped her jacket, and went down the stairs, a light drizzle pelting her head and dampening her shaggy brown hair. Normally she rode with Lori, but today she felt like walking. Walking helps clear the mind and expel nervous energy. She ducked her head, shoved her hands into her pockets, and hurried down the wet sidewalk.

Maybe she should put it off again. The weather was kinda funky, and what she had in mind, man, you can't do that on a day like this. You need sunshine and shit.

She already put it off, legit, six times. It was starting to get stupid. She needed to woman up a little, bite the bullet, and get it done and over with.

She was worried, though.

Worried that Sam wouldn't be down.

It _was _kind of a big thing. Perhaps a little too big. Springing it on Sam like probably wasn't fair. She should just let it go for now. Wait six months or a year. She and Sam had only been together four months. That's not very long.

Too soon?

Maybe, man, maybe.

By the time Royal County High appeared through a screen of trees like a pedo peeking through some bushes, her stomach was a gnashing pit of anxiety and she could hardly breathe. A line of yellow buses idled at the curb and disgorged streams of kids, and others converged from surrounding streets. Luna stopped, turned off her iPod, and joined a crush of humanity lumbering through the main doors. Principal Ramirez stood by the entrance with his hands clasped behind his back and a scowl on his craggy face. Luna didn't have any beef with "the man" but this dude was too much. He stalked the halls like a phantom shadow, and if he caught you so much as whistling, he'd tear you limb from limb.

He also had a pentagram tatted on his palm.

Which was, uh...yeah.

Inside the vaulted lobby, a hall flanked by lockers stretched into forever, eventually filtering out in the gym. Two more opened up on either side, and she turned left, unconsciously scanning the crowd for Sam. At the cafeteria, she spotted her sitting at a table against the wall, her breakfast in front of her. A tall, thin girl with blonde hair streaked blue, Sam wore acid washed jeans and a black T-shirt beneath a ripped denim jacket. A dreamy smile crossed Luna's face and she let out a contented sigh. She was the hottest, raddest, most bodacious chick Luna had ever seen, and every time she realized that Sam was _hers, _she felt all warm and fuzzy inside.

Downstairs, she just felt warm~

Shoving her way through gangs of jocks, suburban gangstas, and dumb, giggly girls, Luna made her way to the table and sat across from Sam. Sam looked up from her tray and grinned. "Hey," she said.

"Hey," Luna replied through a smile, "you look hot today."

Sam snickered. "Thanks. You look hot too."

Luna told her the same thing every morning, but in her defense, that's because it was true every morning. And afternoon. And evening. And night. "How you feeling?"

"Sore," Sam whispered with a blush.

"So it was good," Luna said proudly.

Sam nodded. "It always is," she said with a smirk.

Suddenly, Luna became keenly aware of the box in her pocket, like a hot coal burning into her leg. "You wanna take a walk after school?" she asked haltingly.

"I guess," Sam said noncommittally.

Luna flashed a nervous grin.

She was hoping she'd say no so she could put this off again.

"Great," she said.


	2. Can I Sit Next To You, Girl?

**Guest: Yeah, that about sums it up.**

**LoudRisque: I think there are multiple reasons Luaggie isn't well liked. Honestly, I don't care all that much for it myself. Maggie appeared in one episode and had no interaction with Luan whatsoever, then the fandom took it and ran with it. I like writing different characters and ships and trying new things, so it was inevitable that I would eventually do Luaggie. **

**Guest: Peruse my backlog a little bit and you'll **_**really **_**see. **

**STR2D3PO: I agree with you. The worst offender is Thicc QT. She was literally a face in the background, and the fandom took her, gave her a name, a backstory, and a daughter from thin air. But I like said above, I like writing different characters and trying new things. **

Lincoln Loud climbed out of the van, drew the door closed with a thunk, and joined a rush of kids flowing through the double doors fronting Royal County Elementary. Inside, he ducked right and went to his locker, coming to a shuffling halt when he saw her. Tall and slender with shoulder length black hair and bangs that hung in her almond eyes, Stella stood next to her locker with her books to her chest and talked with a group of girls. Her face glowed with warm radiance and her beaming smile made his heartbeat quicken. He swallowed around a lump in his throat and forced himself to his locker on shaky knees.

Stella's family moved to Royal Woods from Canada over the summer. Lincoln first met her at Flip's in August when he and Clyde stopped in for a Flipeez and to check the payphone coin slot for forgotten change. She stood at the counter with her back to them, her posture arrow straight, and when she turned around, Lincoln's stomach lurched; with her dark eyes, bronze skin, and an endless smile, she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

Lovesickness set in immeadiely, and for a week afterwards he kicked himself in the ass for not gathering the courage to talk to her. Everyday, as he and Clyde wandered aimlessly through town or played games at the arcade, he looked around, hoping to see her again, but he never did. Finally, on the first day of school, he walked into homeroom, and there she was, sitting in the front row with her hands neatly folded on her desk and that heart stopping smile on her lips. The seat next to her was open, but he punked out and didn't take it. As fate would have it, their lockers were side-by-side, a fact he was ignorant of until he closed the door one day, turned, and boom, there was was, smiling at him. _Hi, _she said affably, _looks like we're neighbors. I'm Stella. _She thrust her hand out and Lincoln stared dumbly at it. _Uh...I-I'm Lincoln, _he said and took it; his heart throbbed so hard he could barely hear the sound of his own voice. Her hand was small, dainty, and warm, and letting go was the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life.

_Nice to meet you, Lincoln. I like your hair. It's different. _

He was so dumbstruck that for a moment, he had no idea what she was talking about. His hair? What about his hair? Then he remembered. _Oh, yeah, _he stuttered, _it's a...it's a...focile...thing. _

_It makes you look like a cute little grandpa, _she giggled.

The only word he took from that was _cute, _and his cheeks burned. _Uh...t-thanks, you too. _

She lifted her brow, and when he realized what he said, his blush deepened. _I mean...I-I like your hair. It's nice. _

She smiled widely. _Thank you. It's like this all the time. _She laughed easily, and Lincoln chuckled. _I gotta go, _she said, _have a nice day. _

_You too._

Turning, she walked away, and Lincoln's eyes instantly went to her butt; the way it wiggled beneath the tight black fabric of her skirt made him even hotter and shakier than before.

Normally, when Lincoln liked a girl, he did the sensible thing and pined from afar while avoiding her like she was Patient Zero and one wrong move would infect him with brain eating, butt rotting zombie disease. He couldn't do that with Stella. She was _very _friendly. Every time they met at their lockers, she struck up a conversation, and every time, Lincoln shook, stammered, and made a complete idiot of himself.

Even so, he _loved _talking to Stella. Her caring, outgoing personality made her ten times more beautiful than she was in the beginning, and every day, Lincoln found something new about her to worship. Her soft freckles, her intelligence, her laugh, the way she smelled...if perfection existed, it's name was Stella Dihn.

He wouldn't call them _close, _but they were certainly friends; they talked, ate lunch at the same table, and walked home together albeit with Clyde, Girl Jordan, and Cristina. She was sweet and considerate and all that other amazing stuff, but Lincoln was more terrified of asking her out than he was of any girl he'd liked. He was really, _really _into her and the prospect of being rejected by the most amazing girl ever scared the shit out of him.

This pining shit, though, couldn't go on. His stomach sloshed and reeled every minute of every day, and the band around his chest hadn't allowed him a deep breath in weeks. Today, he decided when he woke up that morning, today he was going to do it.

He was going to ask her to be his girlfriend.

At his locker, he put in the combination (fumbling and having to start over when Stella laughed melodically), and took out his science book. He waited for the other girls to go away so he could talk to Stella, but they stayed where they were. He pretended to sift through his locker in search of something but after a few minutes, he started worrying he might look like a weirdo, so he shut the door and left in defeat. Okay, he thought as he made his way to homeroom, no big. In fact, doing it face to face was a dumb idea. He'd just cough, shake, and look at his feet. She'd think he was the biggest creep on earth.

A letter was the superior way to go. Clear, direct, and to the point. It lacked the personal touch of verbal interfacing, but he'd just have to live with that.

In class, he went to his usual seat at the back of the room between Clyde and Poppa Wheelie and sat. Poppa bent over his DS, features twisted in suspense, and Clyde moved pencils around his desk like Spongebob trying to figure out where the essay pencil went. Though a good dude, Clyde had issues, chiefly among them obsessive compulsive disorder. If things weren't _just so, _dude would lose his mind. "Yeah," Poppa Wheelie said through his teeth, "take _that, _fag."

"That word's really offensive, dude," Clyde said absently and sat his pencil next to his notebook.

"Sorry," Poppa said, "take _that, _homo."

Clyde picked up the pencil and laid it across the top of the desk. "So's that."

Ignoring them, Lincoln watched the door like a cop on a stake out. When Stella entered, an exuberant spring in her step, his throat went dry and his stomach did a flying back flip that made him wince. She sat at her desk, in the very front because she was kind of a teacher's pet, and sat up straight, hands folded in that proper way of hers. _I am eager to learn, _it said. Lincoln never thought being a nerd could be sexy...then he met Stella.

Perfect. She was perfect.

What chance did he have? He wasn't down on himself, but she was a literal angel. He wasn't good enough for her..._no one _was.

He sighed miserably and hung his head. He should just forget it. Go back to crushing on Cristina or Girl Jordan. They were more obtainable. Both were great, but they weren't perfection made flesh.

They weren't Stella.

Mrs. Johnson flew into the room just ahead of the bell, her hair messy and a cup of gas station coffee clutched in one hand. She went to her desk, tossed a harried look behind her, as though to make sure she hadn't dropped anything, then sat her coffee down.

As she began the ritualistic incantations that heralded the start of every day, Lincoln propped his elbow on the desk, parked his chin in his upturned palm, and gazed longingly at the back of Stella's head. Every time she moved, her silky hair rustled across her shoulders, affording him quick flashes of warm flesh. He drew a deep sigh that did little to dispel the pressure in his chest. He _really _wanted her to be his girlfriend, and farting around like this wasn't getting him any closer to his goal.

After homeroom, Lincoln grabbed his book and went to science class. His seat was in the row next to Stella's. She sat at the head of the class, and he three seats back. Cookie Milford, Royal Woods Elementary's resident snooty rich bitch, sat in front of him. If she leaned forward, she could reach out and touch Stella.

Or pass her a note.

Lincoln's heart jagged and he sat up straight.

The moment of truth was here.

To paraphrase a popular song from, like, fifty years ago.

Halt, the hour of the hammer is upon us.

Alright. Let's do this.

He opened his notebook and carefully ripped a sheet of paper out, taking great pains to make sure the edge didn't come out ragged. He wanted this letter to be befitting of a queen, because that's exactly what Stella was. He closed the notebook, laid the paper on top, and bent over, pencil poised at the ready.

What should he write?

Any other time, he was decent at expressing himself in written form (using the simple vocabulary available to a sixth grader, of course), but right now, his mind completely blanked and his eyes glazed stupidly over. Uhhh...how do you articulate something like the feelings locked in his heart? They were a hopeless jumble and he couldn't even begin to separate them, much less coherently write about them.

Something short and to the point to start with, he decided. If she accepted him, he could take her by the hand and lead her through the forest of his emotions later. No need to puke it all up at the beginning.

Taking a deep breath, he started to write, the words coming hard and his face smoldering. He glanced frequently around to make sure no one - the teacher especially - was standing over his shoulder, and when he was done, he read what he had.

_Steela_

_Your really beautiful and smart and nice and I like you a lot. Do you want to go to guses some time and play video games or something? I will understand if you dont i will be happy just to be youre fiend but i like you as moar. Do you like me to_

Below that he drew two boxes for her to check. One labeled YES and the other NO.

He read it over again, pronounced it good, and folded the sheet into thirds. The edges didn't align no matter how hard he tried to make them. He finally gave up; hopefully it didn't look _too _sloppy. Next, he drew her name on the front and, after a moment's debate, added a little heart.

Was that too much? A heart on a note was a bold declaration of intent. It proclaimed _I like you_ in no uncertain terms. Maybe too bold in this case. He didn't want to put her off, but he also wanted her to know unequivocally that he like liked her, and not just liked her.

He almost threw it out and started over, but stopped himself. He was overthinking things to the point of getting tangled up. He'd done all a boy could do, the only thing left was to commit himself to the hands of fate and pray for good fortune.

Swallowing thickly, he leaned over and tapped Cookie on the shoulder. She whipped around, a glower on her face, and he shrank back a little. "Can you give this to Stella?" he asked and held the note out. She flicked her eyes from his back to the letter and back again, her contempt not-so-thinly-veiled. Lincoln flashed a disarming smile and she snatched it out of his hand with a sigh of disgust.

Lincoln sat back in his chair...then started when Cookie opened his letter. "What are you doing?" he whispered.

She smirked evilly and unfolded the sheet. Lincoln reached for it, but she held it away and read it, the corners of her mouth sharpening. Lincoln blushed furiously and bowed his head in shame.

"Aww, how cute," she mocked, "you have a crush on Stella."

Several kids looked over, and Lincoln's heart sank. "Shhh," he said, "please. J-Just give Stella the letter."

She seemed to mull his request over for a moment, then her smile widened, reminding him of The Grinch. Holding the letter up, she gripped it from the edges, and slowly, tauntingly, ripped it down the center with a crisp sound. Lincoln sighed and nodded to himself. This was his fault, really; why did he trust Cookie Milford of all people to _not _be an asshole? She ripped it again, then again, and one more time until the fruits of his heart were reduced to pitiful shreds. She turned to Stella, leaned over, and hissed her name. The Asian girl looked over her shoulder and furrowed her brow.

"Here," Cookie said, "this is from Lincoln."

Stella looked at him, and glanced down at his desk. She tentatively held out her hand, and Cookie dropped the tattered remains of the note into her palm. Stella frowned in confusion and looked at him again.

All Lincoln could do was offer a sheepish smile.

She opened her mouth to say something, then quickly turned back around.

"There," Cookie said smugly.

"Thanks a lot," Lincoln sighed. Now Stella probably thought he was some kind of crazy person who got his rocks off passing shredded up paper to cute girls. _Wanna play rippy-mints, baby? _

Cookie smiled. "You're welcome."

She turned around, and Lincoln came _this _close to grabbing a handful of her hair and yanking, but decided against it. She was the type to tell; her hand would shoot up and _Miss, Miss! Lincoln just pulled my hair! _In the most whiny voice imaginable. When she grew up, she was going to be the type of woman who perpetually wanted to speak to your manager. That is, a petty troublemaker who derives pleasure from causing other people pain, grief, and misery.

Or maybe she'd go into politics.

Same difference.

Cookie Milford's future wasn't the hot topic here; he needed to write a new note and get it to Stella before the end of the day, and they only had one more class together. History. After lunch. If he didn't get it to her before it was over, he'd either have to slink away in defeat, or worse.

Ask her out in person.

Shiver.


	3. Borrowed Time

**Guest: I agree. A lot of people in the fandom seem to mine the background for attractive females to lewd, and it gets tiresome. I'm a firm believer that any character can be fleshed out and made interesting, but most of the time, these walk-on QTs wind up as 1D cannon fodder for Lincoln's 'Log.'**

**Guest: I doubt it, I'm not interested in writing the Casagrandes at the moment.**

**YourDeadFish: Thank you. While my fans might be pervs, though, they're **_**my **_**pervs and I love them 3**

**Heavy5comando: In this continuity she moved to Canada from the Philippines then to America.**

Luna passed the morning in a state of rising anxiety that left her seething with nerves by third period. Sitting at her desk by the window and gazing vacantly out at the rain swept athletic field, where the football team ran drills and practiced sick throws, she listened to the droning of the teacher's voice and tried to let it sooth her, but to no avail. Her midsection gnashed and clawed like a denizen of hell at the gates of heaven, and every breath she took failed to fully expand her lungs. She absently drummed her fingers on her math book and winced when one of the players crashed into another and slammed him into the mud.

Royal Woods was a lot like her sister, Lynn - ball is life. The biggest event of the week was high school football on Friday nights, and everyone acted like the dudes on the team were The Beatles and this was 1964. Throwing panties, screaming, jumping, _oh my God it's John and Paul! _Luna didn't care for sports. She and Sam went to the games here and there for something to do, but she paid more attention to the blue haired girl next to her than to the action on the field. She had to admit, though, some of the guys were good. One ran a homer with a broken ankle last month, and last year, another jumped over a bunch of guys piled up on the ground like a frog, only to get tackled in midair by someone on the other team.

A few times, she and Sam disappeared under the bleachers for their own game. It involved kissing, necking, and heavy petting.

She glanced across the room at Sam, who sat at the last desk in the row closest to the door, dividing her attention between her notebook and the teacher. Luna realized that everyone was taking notes, which meant whatever teach was saying must be important, and cursed herself for gathering wool. People might expect her to be some kind of punk or delinquent because of her appearance, but she was actually a good student and took pride in getting good grades. Good grades are the key to your future, dude. A lot of kids didn't take high school seriously and dicked off the whole time. Those are the kids who went on to bag groceries, pump gasoline, and populate trailer parks the world over.

Chances are, the whole football team's gonna wind up in the unemployment line one day. Royal Woods' Pigskin Cult wasn't doing them any favors. Teachers passing guys who didn't deserve it so they could stay on the squad...man, that instills in people the belief that football is paramount. It might be fun and you might get to play star quarterback _now, _but throwing a ball well or kicking epic punts doesn't mean shit in the real world.

Neither, for that matter, did playing guitar.

Music was Luna's passion, but she wasn't _completely _blinded by it. The odds of her making it big were discouragingly small. For every rock star you see up on stage, there are a million people behind him who tried and failed. And, you know, it's not even always about failing in terms of talent and ability. A lot of musicians just don't get the right breaks, meet the right people. Success in any art-based career (art, music, literature) is as much about being in the right place at the right time as it is about being "good." The stars have to align _juuuust _right, and that doesn't happen for everyone who can sing or hit a gnarly power cord. She wanted to be a famous rock star, but she was grounded enough that she realized it probably wouldn't happen. She was going to wind up a normal woman with a normal life, working at the bank, and that was that.

Her philosophy was that she might as well prepare to succeed in the real world because she was most likely going to stay there. Oh, she was preparing to kick ass and take names in the music industry, but she wasn't _banking _on it.

That'd be really dumb.

_I don't need no education, I'm gonna be rich and famouz one day. Yeehaw! Would you like fries with that, sir?_

Uh-uh, that was _not _going to be her. If she shot for the moon, missed, and fell back to earth in a fireball, she was at the very least gonna land in a good job (with benefits).

Her eyes were drawn to Sam again, and her heart raced.

And hopefully, she'd have Sam too.

That was getting a little ahead of herself, though. Right now, she needed to focus on hers and Sam's little after school walk. Actually, notes, she needed to focus on taking notes first. She opened her notebook, grabbed her pen, and fixed the teacher with steady, unwavering gaze. Had you seen it, you might have thought she was getting ready to go full Klebold in this bitch, but in actuality, she was trying really fucking hard to concentrate. She was _not _going to let thought of Sam distract her. Positive thoughts (like the taste of her lips and the sweet smell of her hair), negative thoughts (like worrying herself into a conniption fit), no thoughts. Sam, get outta my head, dude, I gotta take some notes.

She pressed the tip of her pencil to the page and started writing, her eyes glued to the blackboard and her mouth a wry line of resolution. Math was her least favorite subject. She got Cs and Bs in it, but it (and science) were the only classes that felt like actual work. History? She breezed right through. English? Pfft. Spanish? No problemo, hombre. But math and science? She legit broke a sweat in both. That just inspired her to work harder because it's all too easy to slack off in something you don't like. Hell, look at Dad. He hated shoveling in the winter, and slacked until the snow was ass deep and took him all day to clear. If he worked hard and kept on top of things, he'd be fine. Instead, he made more hassle for himself and wound up coming through the door so frozen he could barely walk. Mom was the same way with dying her hair. It was a long, arduous process and she neglected to do it until she was more gray than blonde. _Look at my head, _she'd exclaim when she realized just how bad things had gotten, _I look like Lincoln! _

That was _not _Luna. She was gonna take these notes and _not _think about Sam's rockin' bod.

Nope.

And she sure as hell wasn't going to think about how bound up and nervous she was, wasn't even going to _imagine _the gutted feeling if Sam rejected her.

She looked down at her notebook, and her eyes widened.

Instead of notes, a big heart with LL + SS greeted her. Damn it.

Turning the page, she went back to work, this time watching her wandering pencil with hawk like vigilance. Ten minutes later, the bell rang and she had maybe a quarter of the information she needed. No big, she'd get Sam to let her copy her notes at lunch. Sam, unlike her, didn't daydream and go off into mental tangents that ate up entire class periods. She had both feet firmly planted on the ground and was as pragmatic as a fifteen year old girl can be. Whereas Luna hoped to shred on stage in front of adoring fans one day, Sam wanted to be a social worker. Music, for her, was a hobby, something she loved and enjoyed doing, but not so much she wanted to marry it. How awesome is _that? _It made her feel kind of bad; here she was trying to get rich and famous, and Sam just wanted to help kids.

Sigh. That's why she always said Sam was her better half.

Cuz she totally was.

Closing her book, Luna got to her feet and went into the hall, where kids were so densely packed she had to turn sideways just to get past. At her locker, she put in the combo, opened the door, and jammed her science book in. Magazine cut outs of rock gods plastered the inside. Mick Swagger mid-saunter (I got them moves like Swagger, baby); Angus Young from AC/DC bent over his guitar and banging his head, sweaty hair flying; the guys from Krokus holding a firehose like the 3 Stooges or something (pretty sure that's a phallic symbol, bro); and Steven Tyler of Aerosmith looking like a woman (ironic, considering he once wrote a song clowning on Vince Neil for the same thing). She closed the door just as Sam leaned back against the next locker over and crossed her arms. "Beavis hit on me again," she sighed.

Luna made a sound of disgust.

"Beavis" was Kayden Rogers, a freshman with blonde hair and a serious underbite that made him look like Beavis from _Beavis and Butt-Head_. The main difference was their weight. OG Beavis was scrawny, Beavis Rogers tipped the scales at, like, 350. He panted with every step, breathed heavily even when he _wasn't _moving, and had tits so big they were the envy of every flat-chested girl in school. Except for Luna. Big tiddies were fun to look at and feel, but lugging them around all the time didn't seem like fun. They cause back problems, you know.

"Kick him in the nards next time," Luna said.

Beavis had the hots for Sam _bad_. She told him she had a girlfriend...and that she was gay...but he just wouldn't stop. Every single day he made a fumbling attempt to ask her out, or told her she was _sexy _between gasps of air. One time, Sam and Luna were standing in this very spot, talking, when he waddled up. _Do...you...have...a shovel...in the back of...your pants? _He huffed. _Because...I am...digging that ass. _Sam's face crinkled in disdain but she was too nice to tell him to fuck off. Luckily, Luna wasn't. She stepped between them and glared. _Stop hitting on my fucking girlfriend or I'm gonna knock your fat ass out. _

He teared up and ran away as fast as his stubby little legs would carry him, which wasn't very fast at all.

And get this.

Sam got mad at her.

_Dude, _she spat, _that was _really _harsh. Not cool. _She slammed her locker closed and stormed off, leaving Luna to gape after her. It was Luna's fault, really. Sam was kind and gentle and went out of her way to spare people's feelings even to her own detriment. Of course she'd be upset with Luna for what she said. Luna wasn't extremely impulsive or anything, but when it came to some guy harassing her girlfriend, yeah, maybe she could be.

Presently, Sam threw her head back and moaned. "I can't do that."

Luna opened her mouth, and Sam tossed her a sly look. "And neither can you."

"Damn," Luna said and hung her head.

Sam laughed and swatted her arm. "Maybe we can set him up with one of your sisters. Like Leni."

A shudder dropped down Luna's spine. "I'd rather not be related to Beavis, bro. Plus, you know Leni's -"

"I know," Sam said, "that doesn't mean she can't get married and have a family."

Given Leni's...condition...just making it through the day was a challenge for her. Luna didn't think she'd be good mother material. She'd probably have a boy, refuse to cut his hair, and have him walking around looking like a trap. Poor kid would have to fight his way to school, then fight his way home again. That's if he made it out of diapers, since she could totally see Leni putting him in the oven in place of dinner, then strapping the turkey into his high chair. _Like, okay, baby Leni, it's totes time for your Gerber. It's really chilly outside so mommy put lots of antifreeze in it to keep you warm. _

Lol, nah, she doubted Leni would be that bad. "Maybe," she allowed. They were walking toward the cafeteria now, their hands clasped and their fingers woven together like a patchwork of LGBTQ love. "I just kind worry she won't be able to handle it, you know?"

Sam nodded understandingly. They'd had this conversation a dozen times in the past. Another one of the things that Luna loved so much about Sam was that no matter what, Sam was always there to listen to her and to render the best advice she could. Before she met her, Luna kept certain things bottled up and only released them in her songwriting. Now, she had Sam to open up to, and you know what? It felt good. Everyone wants someone to listen to and understand them. Luna didn't realize that, or how carthretic it was, until she met Sam. Life, she said sometimes, was like moving a heavy ass couch up a narrow flight of stairs. Tricky, difficult, and something you just can't do by yourself. "I know. She's really not _that _bad off, Luna. A little ditzy, maybe, but she gets by just fine. And, she's really good with Lily."

Principal Ramirez stood by the double doors to the gym with his hands behind his back, glaring at everyone who passed like he wanted to break into their house, tie them up, and beat them to death.

"True," Luna said. Leni _was _really good with Lily. Even so, Mom and Dad never trusted her to babysit, which is how Lori AKA Stalin wound up in charge whenever they left the house. "That's different, though. She doesn't have complete responsibility the way she would with her own kid."

The cafeteria was a den of sound and activity, the low, roaring din of a thousand voices mingling with the heavy smells of salisbury steak to form an assault on the senses that Luna found unpleasant. She hated school food. It was the most awful stuff ever. They have guys on death row eating better than the average American kid. Pretty sad, huh?

"I think she can do it," Sam optimistically declared as they took their place in line. Mr. Jorganson, the gym teacher, stood next to the vending machine with his hands clasped in front of him and watched over the room like a secret service agent scanning the crowd at a political rally for threats to the president.

"You can do it," Luna said in her best Rob Schneider, and Sam laughed.

When they each had their trays, they sat at an empty table facing the doors to the auditorium. Sam opened her chocolate milk and took a long drink, then sighed like a woman in a commercial. _Ahh, refreshing. _A line of brown smeared her upper lip, and Luna smirked. "Nice stache," she said, "Freddy Mercury."

Sam swiped the cuff of her denim jacket across her mouth. "Did I get it?" she asked.

"You just made it worse," Luna teased. "Now you look like the dude from ZZ Top."

She wiped her mouth again. "Now?" she asked, a playful twinkle in her eye.

"You look beautiful," Luna blurted.

Sam blushed and looked down at her tray. "I bet you say that to all the girls."

"Nope," Luna said, "just you." She reached across the table and took Sam's hand in her own. Their gazes met, and Luna's heartbeat quickened like it always did when Sam looked at her with those clear blue eyes. Luna wrote a song about them that she was waaaay too embarrassed to show Sam, and in it, she likened them to cobalt crystals glinting in the winter sun. She didn't know exactly what the hell she meant by that, but it was the same thing she thought each time she looked into them, so it had to mean something, right?

"You're a dork," Sam said, her pink lips pronouncing the words slowly.

Luna's chest swelled with warmth and she smiled. "No, I'm not," she said.

"Yes you are," Sam countered, "a mega dork."

Luna squeezed. "Nah, I'm not a dork."

"Super mega dork."

Luna flinched. "Okay, now that one hurt."

"I love you anyway, though," Sam said.

No three words had ever sounded sweeter to her ears, and no voice more enchanting. She was committed to being straight edge and drug free, but whether she wanted to be or not, she was a junkie for Sam. "I love you too," she grinned.

When she shifted, the box moved in her pocket like a worrisome memory being jostled loose from the anterior wall of an addled brain, and her chest twinged. _Hey, remember me? _Yes, she did, and after school, she was going to do it.

No ifs, ands, or buts.

* * *

"...then I said _rectum? Damn near killed him!" _

Luan laughed madly and shook her head. Everyone else at the table groaned, rolled their eyes, or snickered...not with her, but at her. Maggie, sitting across from the ponytail'd jokester, watched with seeming apathy. If you looked really close, however, you'd see the faint ghost of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. Her dark eyes danced with wicked light as she trailed them down the gentle slope of Luan's throat, and to her budding chest. The white fabric of her blouse clung lovingly to her small, supple breasts, the dark patch of her areolas clearly visible when she moved just right. Maggie swallowed thickly and looked down at the contents of her tray. Thin sliver of beef, pallid green beans, mashed potatoes smothered in brown water masquerading as gravy, and a roll so hard you could crack a tooth on it.

Four months ago, when Luan's dumbass brother almost ruined her birthday party, Maggie was a girl lost in the darkness. She lived deep in the recesses of her own heart, too weak to confront her sexuality and too terrified to embrace it if she had. She was alone, unsure, and could never shake the feeling of being an outsider in her own body no matter how hard she tried. She would spend hours staring in the mirror, shirtless and glaring at the hateful _things _on her chest, like cancerous tumors. One week a month, her mood soured and she bled from between her legs. The gift of womanhood, the health teacher called it. Maggie called it something else: Bullshit. She wrapped tight bindings around her chest and wore baggy shirts to hide her hideous breasts and deepening curves, and kept her hair long only because it aided in concealing the soft, delicate shape of her face.

She was a girl at war with her own body, and the faded scars on her wrists and her chest bore silent testimony to the conflict that once raged within her.

That was before she met Luan Loud.

Bright, happy, and unfailingly upbeat even in the most dire or somber of circumstances, Luan was Maggie's ray of sunshine...a ray of sunshine that she always knew, on some level, she wanted, but never thought she'd find. Especially in someone like Luan. People like her, the perky, always happy and chipper types, set Maggie's teeth on edge and made her want to strangle something, but somehow, in Luan, it was endearing. Even...bewitching. None of Luan's dumb jokes ever made her laugh, but the light in her eyes when she told them, and and happy, upward curl of her lips never failed to draw a girlish giggle from her throat. They had never said _I love you _(though they did say it with their bodies), but Maggie _did _love Luan.

And that love was why Maggie had been sick with worry recently. She had something precious, something sacred, something that uplifted and sustained her through the darkest hours of her struggle with her identity, and the decision she made last week could potentially ruin it all. She had to be true to herself, though, whatever the cost. If she believed in God, she would have been locked in prayer even now, begging Him for Luan to love her even after she broke the news. She did not, however, so all she had to hang onto was hope.

She heaved a sigh and picked up her roll. It was hard and cold in her hand, like a stone, and she sat it back down again. "Hey, Mags," Luan said around a mouthful of food, "wanna hear a good one?"

Luan was the only person in the world Maggie let call her Mags. If she hated her body, she hated that damn name even more. "If I did, I'd go to someone who was actually funny."

Ignoring her, Luan said, "I saw six guys beating up my mother-in-law. My neighbor said _aren't you going to help? _And I said, _Nah, six oughta be enough." _

Maggie regarded her with a blank stare.

"Made you smile," Luan said smugly.

It was true. She _did _smile. But no one other than Luan could tell.

"That was pity," Maggie said flatly.

Luan opened her mouth, then thought better of what she was going to say and snapped it closed again. "Pity smiles are still smiles," she pointed out and took a drink of her milk. She sat the carton down and nudged the boy next to her. "What has six chins and smells like ass?"

His brow pinched. "What?"

"Your mom's face!"

Everyone laughed except Maggie, but she came close. When they first got together, Luan promised to make her laugh at least once a day, a challenge that Maggie took and vowed to win. Sometimes standing firm was hard, sometimes it was easy. The past week had been easy - the prospect of losing Luan forever opened a pit of dread in her stomach that made laughing next to impossible.

"Hey, that's not funny," the boy whined.

"It's hilarious," Luan said and slapped the table, "because it's true!"

Glaring, the boy snatched his tray, got to his feet, and skulked away. Luan looked around at the others and scrunched her lips to one side. "Who should I roast next?"

"Me."

Lynn dropped into the seat so recently vacated by the boy, grabbed Luan's milk, and took a long drink. "Pop-Pop's jokes didn't cut it."

"Oh," Luan said, "just like you on the basketball team."

Maggie sucked her lips in to keep from smiling. Lynn swaggered around and pounded her chest about being the best at every sport you could throw at her, but she was terrible at basketball. And, per the coach, _way too short. _She made the team, but after one miserable season, they kicked her off. She told everyone -

"Coach Morgan was lame, that's why I left."

"That's not what I heard," Luan said, "I heard they made you leave because you kept losing them games."

Lynn finished off Luan's milk, threw the empty carton over her shoulder, and belched in Luan's face. "Try harder, chuckles."

"Okay," Luan said, "what's thirteen and hasn't hit puberty yet? You!"

Everyone looked from Luan to Lynn and back again. Maggie carved off a piece of beef and forked it into her mouth. It was cold and tasteless.

"I'm going through puberty," Lynn said defensively.

"That's why you have no breasts."

Someone _oooo_'d.

"Look who's talking," Lynn said, her face flushing with anger.

"The girl with breasts," Luan said. She patted Lynn's head. "No run along, short stuff, I hear there's a basketball game in the gym and they need a cheerleader."

Lynn slapped her sister's hand away. "I'm not a cheerleader, metal mouth."

"You're also not on a basketball player."

A boy on Maggie's left snickered. "Sick burn."

Lynn whipped her head in his direction and shot him a dirty look. Her cheeks were as red as her jersey and her brown eyes flashed with rage. Getting under her skin, Maggie had learned, was pitifully easy. "Shut up, bitch, or I'll jumped over this table and wring your neck."

"You'll probably miss," Luan said.

"Like you missed all the baskets," a black girl added.

"Screw you," Lynn said. She got to her feet and started to storm off, but stopped, came back, and grabbed Luan's roll. "You're still not funny," she said. She spun and walked off, her ponytail swishing angrily back and forth.

Luan opened her mouth, perhaps to call for another victim, but the bell rang. "Well, that's the end of my set," she said, "I'll be here tomorrow, same time, same place."

Grumbling some variation of sarcastic _oh yay, _everyone got up and drifted off. Maggie got to her feet, grabbed her tray, and joined Luan at the end of the table. "I think I killed it," Luan stated boldly.

"You killed something, alright," Maggie said. "My faith in humanity."

"No, I didn't. You had none to begin with."

No, she didn't. Before Luan, she had faith in nothing and no one, herself included. Herself especially. Now, four months later, she practically burst with the stuff, even if she didn't wear it on her sleeve. She also burst with terror. She needed to suck it up and tell Luan already, but she was not looking forward to it, and had been putting it off for days. If she could, she'd put it off even longer, but she didn't have the time. It was early October. Within a month, maybe a little more, things would change unalterably, and Luan deserved to know well in advance.

"I have even less now," she said. She dumped the contents of her tray into one of the big trash cans standing at the head of the room, then set it on a wheeled cart laden with teetering stacks.

Luan did the same and fell in beside her as she made her way to the hall. "Then I guess I have to try harder," Luan said. Her hand crept into Maggie's, and Maggie squeezed it a little harder than she had to, like a woman clinging to something she loved and desperately wanted to hang onto.

"Please don't," Maggie said, "I don't think I can take anymore."

Luan looked at her and lidded her eyes. "Girl, if you were a dinosaur, you'd be a Gorgeousaurus."

"And you'd be a Doofusarus."

"That's the spirit!"

In the hall, they reached a four way junction. Maggie's next class was English and Luan's biology - one to the left and the other to the right. Maggie drew a heavy sigh and took Luan's other hand. She hated parting, even if for just a little while. Luan was the light of her life, and without her, she always felt the darkness threatening to slither back in. "I'll see you later," she said.

"Yes you will," Luan said. She leaned forward and they shared a chaste kiss. Maggie's heartbeat sped up, and on a whim, she flicked out her tongue and licked Luan's lips. The taste of cherry lip balm filled Maggie's mouth, and Luan smiled against her lips. "Public displays of affection are a mandatory in school suspension, missy."

Maggie finally let her smile show through. "I don't care," she said.

"Eh. Neither do I."

They kissed more deeply this time, their tongues swirling around one another, then pulled reluctantly apart, their hands still clasped, fingers slowly coming untwined like loose strands of fabric. "You better get to class," Luan said playfully, "you're gonna be late."

"Let go of my hand," Maggie shot back.

Luan rolled her eyes. "Maggie Mags, always making excuses for why she gets such bad grades."

"I'd get better grades if all our study dates didn't turn into you seducing me," Maggie grinned.

"You need to learn to say no."

The bell rang. Last call. Maggie yanked her hand from Luan's and rolled her wrist. "I'm going now."

"Then go," Luan teased.

Maggie turned around and looked over her shoulder. "Bye."

"Bye," Luan said and wiggled her fingers.

"Walking away."

"Walk then," Luan grinned.

Drawing a deep breath, Maggie turned away from her love and went to class. Today, she told herself, she would tell Luan today.

She just wanted to enjoy this for a little while longer.


	4. Gone Shootin

Everyone, Lincoln imagined, had days where it felt like the universe was against them. For him, this was one of those days.

He had three classes with Stella, and during each one of them, he wrote her a letter only to have something happen to it. In English, where he sat one row across and one seat back from her, he held it out and leaned over to whisper her name, but the teacher materialized from nowhere and snatched it away. _I'll take that, Mr. Loud, _he said. Lincoln's heart jumped into his throat, and for a horrible moment, he was certain he'd read it to the entire class. Thankfully, he just shoved it into a desk drawer and went on with his life. Whew. Then, in math, he finished the note and went to take a drink from his contraband can of Coke; he was so jumpy and keyed up that he spilled it all over himself, his desk, and everything on it, including the letter.

Crying out, he jumped to his feet, and everyone laughed at him, some pointing. That's when he realized his crotch took most of the soda; a big dark patch spread across his pants and gave the impression of him having pissed himself. His heart sank, and when he saw Stella watching him from across the room, her hand pressed to her mouth to hide her smile, his stomach sank. _It's not what it looks like, guys, I swear! _

_LOUD PEED HIS PANTS LIKE A BABY! _Poppa Wheelie cried, and everyone lost it.

Except the teacher.

_This is why we don't allow drinks in class, Mr. Loud, clumsy oafs like you. _

He was forced to sit in a sticky seat for the rest of the period, and when they broke for lunch, his back was just as damp as his front. In the hall, kids snickered as they passed. When he got to his locker, he shuffled to a grinding stop.

Someone taped a diaper to it.

_That's for you, Loud! _Poppa Wheelie shouted, and the entire corridor exploded in raucous laughter. Hanging his head, Lincoln ripped it off, cast it aside, and put in the combination. Stupid Coke. It was 2019, how come they hadn't invented cans that don't spill yet? Or pants that don't absorb liquid like a freaking sponge? He closed the door and jumped back: Stella rummaged through her own locker, the door blocking her from the shoulders up. Maybe if he was real quiet, he could…

She slammed the door, saw him, and broke out in an achingly beautiful smile that lit up her whole face. Especially her eyes. "Hey, Linc!"

Damn. He was hoping to slink away with his tail between his legs before she noticed. "Hey," croaked. He slapped his hand against the locker and leaned against it in an effort to look cool. Stella's eyes darted to his sodden crotch, and her mouth turned up in a sly, girlish simper full of elfin mischifit.

"You must have _really _been holding it," she said.

Hot shame burst across the back of Lincoln's neck and he suppressed the urge to cover the wet spot with his hands. "It was an accident," he said.

"Good," she said, "it'd be kind of strange if you peed yourself on purpose." She ducked her head and giggled again, much to Lincoln's mortification.

"It was Coke, I swear."

"Drinking lots of Coke makes me have to pee too," she said, "but I usually wait until I get to a bathroom."

Before Lincoln could explain what he meant, she brushed past him and hurried off. He turned to call her name, to plead his case and convince her that he didn't really piss himself, but she disappeared into the crowd.

Great, he thought miserably and slammed his head against the locker, now the girl he liked, the one girl - nay, the one _person _\- whose opinion really mattered thought he pissed his pants in the middle of class after drinking too much Coke.

Sudden and inexplicable tears welled in his eyes. Over. It was over. Any chances he had with Stella went down the shitter the moment that pop doused his pants. She would probably rather lick the bathroom floor than go out with Sir. Pissy Pants. He reared his head back and rammed it forward with a clang of metal. Ow. I deserve that. It was his dumb idea to smuggle a Coke into class, knowing full well it was against the rules. Karma saw, took offense, and slapped it out of his hand. _You really think you have a chance with Stella? Hahahaha! _

He sighed and pushed away from the locker. Cookie, passing by, stopped and looked down at the front of his pants, then up at his face. "So it _is _true," she sniffed. "I knew you were a loser, but this takes the cake."

Lincoln blinked back tears.

"Stella will never date you now."

"I know," he muttered, "I suck."

"Finally you admit it," Cookie said with a nod, "good. If you try really hard, you might be half the man Clyde is one day." She heaved a dreamy breath and rolled her eyes up to the ceiling. "He's a real hunk."

Head in the clouds, she wandered off, and Lincoln trudged to lunch feeling two inches tall. He sat at his usual table with Clyde, Girl Jordan, Cristina, and Poppa Wheelie. Stella sat slightly apart from them with a girl named Connie from Laos. Stella was from the Philippines, but apparently Laotions were basically her neighbors or something. He didn't know and he didn't care. He stared down at his food and fought back the roiling self-pity swirling through his chest like choking smoke. He caught snatchets of Stella's conversation over the din, and her musical voice sent bolts of agony plunging into his stomach because it was so beautiful...she was so beautiful...and he would never have her.

"Cheer up, buddy," Clyde said from beside him, "no one _really _thinks you pissed yourself. They're just trolling."

"Yeah," Cristina said across the table, "spills happen." She flicked her eyes to Poppa Wheelie, who sat next to her. He forked a piece of steak and lifted it to his mouth; it fell, landed on his shirt, then bounced back onto the tray, leaving a brown grease spot in its wake. "See?"

Eh. Poppa Wheelie spilling stuff on himself happened on the daily. He never dumped a soda on his lap and came out looking incontinent, though. Especially in front of the girl he liked. "I guess," he sighed.

"Sure they do," Girl Jordan said boldly, "I spilled a whole gallon of milk on my pants a couple months ago. My mom was so mad she grounded me." She snickered and took a bite of her roll.

That was nice and all, but it did little to make him feel better. They say misery loves company, but that's not true. Lincoln wanted _no _company except for Stella.

But _that_ wasn't going to happen.

Or was it?

Clyde was right, most people probably _didn't _think he pissed himself. The way she was laughing, she might have just been playing with him. Sure, spilling Coke all over your pants is embarrassing, but it's not world ending. He could come back from it, right? Yeah, the more he thought about it, the surer he became that Stella was just joking and he was being oversensitive. He had a habit of freaking out sometimes. Heh. But when the girl you like is on the line, who doesn't?

He stole a surreptitious glance from the corner of his eye, and his heart jogged: Stella was staring at him with a sly grin playing on her lips. Her eyes danced with light and her nostrils flared as she drew breath distractedly through her nose. She flickered her gaze to his face, and her eyes widened when she realized she'd been caught. Flushing, she turned her head quickly away and set her attention on her food.

Lincoln's budding hope quashed and he, too, bowed his head. Maybe he didn't have a chance after all; she was gawking at him like a freak! _Wow, _she probably thought, _what a lame-o. He can't even hold a can of soda without screwing it up and making a mess. How immature! _

Now he felt dejected again, and that despondency carried him through the rest of the day like cold, skeletal hands to a waiting grave. When the final bell rang, he sighed deeply, pushed to his feet and shuffled to his locker. He told himself that today he would finally tell Stella how he felt, but he blew it. Now she'd never know, and he figured it was for the best.

He lifted his head as he approached the locker, and sighed again when he saw Stella putting her books away. He caressed the soft curve of her face with his eyes, and his chest ached as though it were filled with a million tiny claws. He went over, entered his combination, and shoved his math book in. A poster of Ace Savvy's face, lifted in a self-assured smile, stared at him from the inside of the door_, _his hands planted heroically on his hips. _Didja get the girl, Linc?_

No, Ace, I did not.

_Why?_

Because I made an ass out of myself in front of her.

_Oh. Tough break, kid. _

Yeah.

He slammed the door and barely registered Stella standing there, a toothy grimace on her face. "Long day," she said by way of conversation.

"Yeah," Lincoln replied glumly, "too long."

They started walking down the hall, Stella with that peppy bounce Lincoln loved so much, and Lincoln with all the animation of a walking corpse. "Are you okay?" she asked, her voice soft with concern. Her caring tone made his stomach knot because she was so perfect, and he boobed up his chances with her. "You sound sad."

"I am," he said, no longer caring about looking cool or tough in front of her. "Everyone thinks I wet myself. And even if they don't, it's really embarrassing."

Stella blinked. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said earnestly. "You shouldn't be upset about it, though. No one _really _thinks you peed yourself, and so what, you spilled something." She shrugged her shoulders. "It's really not a big deal."

"That's easy for you to say," Lincoln said, "you're not the loser who dropped Coke on his pants like a big baby."

She giggled and Lincoln's lips quivered like he was going to cry. It wasn't everyone thinking he was a dork that hurt him, it was Stella thinking he was a dork - and laughing - that hurt. Maybe he was being overly emotional, but he couldn't help it. "I put one of my shirts on inside out my first week here. I didn't realize it until people started calling me Tags. Because my tag was showing." She laughed again. "I was really embarrassed buuut everyone forgot about it just like they're going to forget this."

The confidence in her voice gave Lincoln pause. Maybe he still had a chance after all. "I guess," he said cautiously. "It was still pretty humiliating." He forced a stilted laugh to show that he was being a good sport about it.

"Don't worry," she chirped, "something even more humiliating will happen." Her smile fell a little and she hastened to add, "To someone else, I mean."

He chuckled, genuinely this time. "I hope," he said, "I don't think I can stand another day like today."

"Maybe it'll be Poppa Wheelie," she said, "he could use a little karma."

Could he ever. Poppa Wheelie was the closest thing Royal Woods Elementary had to a bully. He passed most of his insults and _sick burns _off as just messing around, but Lincoln doubted he was joking when he did some of the things he'd done over the years. Like taping that diaper to his locker. "Have you seen him?" Lincoln asked. "Karma already got him."

She covered her mouth and giggled. "That's mean...but funny. He could stand to be a little nicer to people. If he did, he'd have more friends than just us."

Lincoln hesitated to claim friendship with Poppa Wheelie. They happened to live along the same route and one day last year, he kind of inserted himself when Lincoln was walking home with Clyde, Cristina, and Girl Jordan. No one had the heart to tell him to leave, and from there, he started sitting with them at lunch and gravitating to them in gym class. Given his attitude, he wasn't very popular with the others. Some were afraid of him, others intimidated by him, and others still just flat out didn't like him. "He had other friends," Lincoln said, "but I hear he ate them."

Stella laughed, then glanced at him and laughed even harder when he arched his brows quizzically. "You're _bad,_" she hitched, "that's so mean. I'm sure he didn't eat _all _of them. Like, the bones and stuff."

"I don't know," Lincoln allowed, wanting to hear her sweet laugh again but not knowing what to say, "you'd be surprised. A guy ate a whole plane once."

"A whole plane?" Stella asked incredulously.

Lincoln. "It was a small one...but still a plane. It took him, like, two years. His mom wouldn't let him get up from the table until he was done."

She giggled. "You're lying," she charged.

"No, seriously, a guy ate an airplane. His mom didn't really make him sit at the table the whole time, but he still ate it. Every last bite."

"Where did you hear _that?" _she asked and cocked her brow. "FakeNews . com?"

"It's in the _Guinness Book of World Records," _Lincoln said. "He was a French guy. He ate a bunch fo white flags too."

Stella laughed. "What did his poop look like?"

"I, uh, I don't know," Lincoln said honestly, his face flushing. Pooping was not a topic he relished discussing with Stella of all people.

"He really ate a whole airplane?"

Lincoln nodded.

"How? How can someone eat metal and stuff?" Her eyes crossed cutely in perplexity and she scratched her head with her index finger like a cartoon monkey working to solve a difficult equation.

They were passing the gym now. Vice Principal Gacy, an obese man with a thick mustache, stood by the door watching kids file by, his face dour and his multiple chins jiggling with every ragged breath. Poppa Wheelie called him pudding face because of all the fat, and Chandler, unoriginal as he was, called him Gay-See. _I bet he likes porking dudes and burying them in his crawl space, _Chandler said once. _Probably got, like, thirty-three down there. _

"He had, like, a really thick stomach lining," Lincoln said, trying his damndest to remember. He read it in a book he checked out from the school library last year - it was packed with weird facts, stories, and character biographies. His personal favorite was the guy who wrote a book about a ship called the _Titan _that hit an iceberg and sank on its maiden voyage. It was written in 1898, fourteen years before a ship called the _Titanic _hit an iceberg and sank on its maiden voyage. Dude also wrote a book about a war in the Pacific that ending with a nuclear like weapon being used on the Japanese loooong before WWII.

"What about his taste buds?" Stella asked. "And his tongue? Didn't the metal cut his tongue up? Oh, and his teeth." She bared her own and shivered. "I couldn't imagine biting metal."

Ahead, Clyde, Cristina, Girl Jordan, and Poppa Wheelie clustered by the front door waiting for them, Poppa Wheelie playing his DS and salivating like an especially ugly pit bull, Cristina chatting easily with Clyde, and Girl Jordan craning to stare out the window flanking the door like

she was looking for someone. "I don't think he chewed," Lincoln faltered at length

.

"I hope not," she said. "I had a cavity once, and I bit down on a crouton, and it hurt _really_ bad, like someone stabbed me in the tooth."

They reached the others, and Clyde nodded to Lincoln. "Ready?" Clyde asked.

In just the few minutes he and Stella talked, Lincoln's desolation lessened and he felt much better than he had. "Yeah," he said, "let's go."

Outside, the day was overcast and blustery, dark gray clouds sailing quickly across the portentous sky. The trees lining the street waved in the chilly wind, and richly colored leaves scattered from their boughs in fiery showers. Girl Jordan lead the way, her thumbs shoved through the straps of her backpack and her steps firm, French braid swishing back and forth - she resembled an intrepid explorer determined to investigate _all _the uncharted territory. Clyde and Cristina were next, walking side-by-side and talking in bursts about their shared home ec class (they were paired together on a project that involved sewing...gaaaaay). Lincoln walked beside Stella and Poppa Wheelie brought up the rear, bent over his DS. Lincoln's stomach twisted and wrung like a wet rag and his heart thundered sickly against his ribs.

He should do it now.

Face to face.

Suck it up, stop being a pussy, and tell her that he liked her.

The prospect both elated and terrified him, and as he shuffled along the sidewalk, his feet scuffing the concrete, he fought to keep his breathing slow and easy. He could wait, he told himself, try passing her another note tomorrow. He glanced at her profile, drinking in the smooth sweep of her jaw, her upturned button nose, her fragile chin, and her shiny black hair. His guts tangled and his face burned hotly.

He didn't want to wait.

When they reached her house, a tiny two story cape cod with an open porch, dark blue shakes, and white trim, everyone said their farewells, except for Poppa Wheelie, who was still engrossed in his game and too rude to partake in the rituals of polite society if he wasn't. She turned to Lincoln and took a deep breath. "I'll see you tomorrow."

It was now or never.

His stomach clenched and his airways constricted as if under the crushing weight of a strangling hand. He swallowed around a lump in his throat and forced a wan smile. "Uh...y-yeah, I-I'll see you tomorrow," he heard himself stammer stupidly. No! Ask her out!

She flashed a tight lipped smile, hesitated like she had something more to say, then turned and started up the walk, her head down and her shoulders hunched defensively. Lincoln stood where he was while the others went on, watching in horror as the girl he liked got away.

Poppa Wheelie bumped into Lincoln with a gruff, "Move it, Loud," and followed the others, his feet shuffling and the wind rustling his lank brown hair.

Maybe there would be other chances to tell her, even as soon as tomorrow, but Lincoln couldn't help feeling that this was it. If he let her walk through her front door without confessing his feelings, he would _never _have the opportunity again.

His heart blasted so hard it sent tremors through his body. "Stella?"

At the bottom of the steps, Stella turned and looked at him. For a moment, they faced each other like two gunslingers on a dusty street at high noon, drifting leaves standing in for tumbleweeds, then, self-conscious, Lincoln started toward her. She missed a beat, then walked to meet him in the middle. They stopped three feet apart, and Lincoln took a deep breath. "What's up?" she asked.

"Uh...I-I have something to tell you."

She tilted her head slightly to one side. "What?" she asked curiously.

Ignoring the weakness in his knees, the sloshing in his stomach, the aching of his heart, the awkward blazing of his cheeks and the nape of his neck, he looked her in the eyes and said, "I-I really like you, Stella, like...as more than a friend and I wanted to know if maybe you wanted to...to hang out sometime." He paused. "Just the two of us," he added.

Stella's jaw fell slack and her eyes widened, with shocked disgust, probably. Lincoln reflexively swallowed and lowered his gaze. "I understand if you don't and...just wanna stay friends. That's cool too. I -"

"L-Like a date?" she asked, a stunned inflection in her voice.

Aw, man, she sounded like going out with him was the _last _thing she wanted to do.

Talk to walk it back. "Well, i-it doesn't have to be if you don't _want _it to be," he said to her knees. He rubbed the back of his neck and swallowed again. His throat was dry and tacky. His chest hurt. He was flushed from head to toe and he trembled visibly.

"...Do _you _want it to be?"

There was nothing to say at this point but the truth. He forced his eyes to hers and nodded. "Yeah," he said, "I do."

She regarded him with a blank stare...then she broke out in the brightest smile Lincoln had ever seen, her face downright glowing. "We can go right now," she said.

Lincoln sputtered. "Y-You wanna go out with me?" he asked disbelievingly.

"Uh, yeah," she giggled, "I thought I was making it pretty obvious."

Now it was his turn to gape. No, actually, she wasn't. Yeah, she was sweet and outgoing, but just because a girl acts like that, it doesn't mean she wants you. "N-No," he said, a happy smile cresting across his lips, "I had no idea. Why didn't you say something?"

"The boy's supposed to ask the girl," she said, "duh." She ducked her head and smiled to herself like a girl who finally, at long last, had what she wanted. "It'd be strange if I asked _you _out."

Lincoln didn't know what to say to that. He was numb with shock and grinning like an idiot, so happy he was light-headed.

"Come on," she said, "I have _one _hour. And it's all yours."

Those words struck him like a knife to the chest.

But in a good way.


	5. Baby, Please Don't Go

**Guest: Yeah, that was a King of the Hill reference. Love that show. **

Maggie stared out the grimy window at the trees, ranks of houses, and side streets flashing past. The bus rocked back and forth as it lumbered down the street, the sway and the din of voices combining to almost drown out the disquiet in Maggie's stomach. Three rows up, someone threw a crumpled up ball of paper at someone else, and they both laughed like lunatics. The driver's narrowed eyes filled the mirror, and he called out for them to _pipe down_. She crossed her arms over her chest and hugged herself against a chill only she could feel.

Beside her, Luan told dirty jokes to a group of kids, her face beaming. Luan, like most of her siblings, was kind of an attention whore; she lived for the rush and thrill of being adored by an audience. She confided in Maggie once that sometimes she felt _lost in the pack_. She had nine sisters and one brother, all vying for their parents' time. None, Maggie assumed, got enough, which lead them to seek attention elsewhere - Luan through comedy, Lynn through sports, and Lola through beauty pageants. Maggie felt for them - she was in the same boat. The Loud kids had two parents, though, whereas she had only one, her mother. Her father wasn't in the picture and never had been, as far as Maggie could remember, and her mother was a quote unquote _working professional. _She made good money, but at the cost of all her time. Maggie rarely saw her, and for a long time, their relationship suffered. Maggie resented her, withdrew from her, took it into her head even that Mom didn't love her.

Then she came out and things got better. She suspected that her mother felt guilty for not being there for Maggie and leaving her to struggle against her identity alone. She was endlessly supportive of all Maggie's decisions...even the latest one.

The most dramatic one.

A slimy pang of dread cut through her stomach and the taste of bile filled her mouth. It wasn't fair that she had to choose between herself and Luan. It wasn't fair that fate put her in this position. She just wanted to be normal like everyone else, but she wasn't and never had been, a fact that was driven home every time she looked in the mirror or took her clothes off. In the shower, she stared straight ahead lest she glimpse the strange flesh in which she was trapped, and when she and Luan had sex, she focused entirely on her lover, pretending the entire time that she was someone else, some _thing _else.

The bus turned onto her street and came to a rolling stop to let an old woman cross. Maggie's stomach turned and she drew a deep breath. She and Luan were going to spend an hour or so hanging out before she had to go home. Mom worked late on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, which gave them the whole house to themselves. On the other days, they either hung out with Mom or went to Luan's. They tried to keep things cool on those days, but sometimes the spirit just wouldn't wait and they wound up slinking off for clandestine quickies under the noses of whoever was around. That's how Luna kept walking in on them. Since she knew now, she was careful to give them privacy.

"...they're both straight until they get wet!" Luan cackled and slapped her bare knee with a meaty _thwack_. Maggie loved her laugh - it was warm, happy, and light, like an April breeze redolent of flowers. Luan meant everything to her and the prospect of not simply losing her _but driving her away _made Maggie want to puke, but she could not go on living this lie.

Luan's audience laughed and she held up a staying hand. "Thank you, thank you. I know plenty of gay jokes. Like my girlfriend Maggie."

"You're funny," was all Maggie could think to say. She wasn't in the mood for playful banter. She had a serious matter weighing on her heart and mind, and while some people might be able to grin through the pain and affect a phony air of levity, she couldn't.

"Thank you," Luan preened, "I never stop studying the art of the laugh. I'm tireless."

"More like tire_some,_" Maggie countered.

The bus jostled over a speed bump and Maggie's butt momentarily left the seat. "Hmm, I don't know about _that _one. Winsome, maybe."

"Dim some," Maggie said, "cuz you're dumb."

Her house appeared on the right, two story brick with a slate roof and ivy inching across the facade like creeping cemetery fingers. Her mom's second vehicle, a 4 wheel drive used primarily in winter, sat in the driveway abutting the detached garage. Campaign stickers from elections past covered the bumper, some so old their edges were curled and yellowed. Kerry/Edwards '04; Obama/Biden '08; Obama/Biden '12; Clinton/Kaine '16; I'm With Her; Coexist. Maggie didn't give a shit about politics and her mother's staunch liberalism drove her nuts sometimes. The living room TV was always on MSNBC, the car radio perpetually on NPR, and every time mom opened her mouth, there was a 50/50 shot it was going to something political. Like ugh, I don't care, shut up. Yes, Trump's a fuck up, yes, abortion should be legal and easily acceptable, and finally, yes, gay people deserve all the rights. I agree now lay off it.

The bus slowed and stopped at the curb, the little STOP sign up folding from the side and the accordian door opening with a tired wheeze. Luan got up and smoothed her skirt. "Alright, guys," she said to her congregation, "keep smiling. Luan Loud _out._"

"Thank God," someone muttered.

Maggie got up and followed Luan down the aisle like a woman walking down Death Row to the electric chair, her stomach roiling sickly and her heartbeat quickening with suspense. She'd put it off if she could and just enjoy what may be her final few hours with Luan, but she'd already put it off enough. Her mind was made up, and if Luan didn't want to be with her anymore, so be it. She wouldn't like it and it would hurt, but her future was inevitable. There was nothing she could do to stop it.

She stepped off the bus and onto the curb next to Luan. "Wanna watch that Jeff Dunham special on Netflix?" Luan asked.

"Sure," Maggie forced.

They went up the flagstone walk, cold, damp wind washing over them and kicking dead leaves across their path. Maggie took a deep breath through her nose and steeled herself for what was to come. At the door, she pulled out her key, inserted it into the lock, and twisted the handle. Gloomy shadows nestled in the foyer and scattered to the nooks and crannies when she snapped the overhead light on. Richly carpeted stairs provided access to the second floor and a brief hallway lead to the kitchen at the back of the house.

Maggie took off her coat, hung it from the rack by the door, and went left into the living room. Muted gray light cascaded through evenly spaced bay windows. A cream colored area rug covered the hardwood floor immediately in front of the sofa and a thin plasma screen TV hung upon the wall. A bookshelf crammed with DVDs, blue-rays, and hardback novels stood to one side like a dutiful butler (named Alfred, perhaps) and a vase of flowers held court on a nearby end table. Magazines spread across the coffee table: _Mother Jones; Dissent; The Nation. _A caricature of Donald Trump, short and fat with a hair that jutted out in front of him, graced the cover of the latter, a suitcase on either side of him. SEND TRUMP PACKING the title blared.

Maggie rolled her eyes. Luan brushed past her, went over to the loveseat, and dropped on with a sigh of relief. "How 'bout a snack, Mags?" she asked, "I'm starving."

"You know where the kitchen is," Maggie said even as her stomach rumbled. Luan heard and cracked a lopsided grin. "_She _agrees with me. I'll have an apple juice and a handi snack, please." She batted her eyelashes suggestively. "Followed by just a handy."

"Right on it," Maggie said and sat next to her. She grabbed the remote from the coffee table, turned the TV on, then cycled through the menu until she came to Netflix.

Luan let out an exaggerated sigh. "I guess _I'll _get it this time."

"I got it the last time," Maggie pointed out.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Luan said dismissively. She crossed to the foyer, and Maggie's eyes flicked to her butt. Like always, however, Luan's skirt was in the way, cute and jaunty like Luan herself but too loose and shapeless for Maggie; she liked it when Luan wore jeans and yoga pants because she filled them out well.

When she was alone, Maggie turned back to the TV and frowned. As soon as Luan came back, she thought, she'd tell her. She'd been rehearsing what she was going to say all afternoon and while she didn't know if it was perfect, it was as close as she could get. She had no doubt that Luan would understand, for beneath her jocular facade, she was as deep and intelligent as she was attractive, but Maggie yearned for a level of acceptance that she ultimately had no right to ask of her. Being understood was nice, but she was more concerned with Luan continuing to love her.

By the time Luan returned with two cans of Pepsi and a bag of Lay's Baked potato chips, she was certain that their relationship was going to die here. Panic clawed at Maggie's chest, but she shoved it away. She had to do this, even if it meant that Luan stopped loving her.

"You were out of handi snacks," Luan said and sat. She set the stuff on the coffee table and cocked a faux scolding brow at Maggie. "Real disappointed in you, Mags." She noticed Maggie's somber expression and her smile lowered. "You alright?"

Maggie's heart knocked and her stomach bubbled like a cauldron of hot tar. "I actually have something to...to tell you." She stumbled over her words and glanced away from Luan's big, worried eyes. Even though this is what she wanted, what she _needed, _she suddenly felt dirty and selfish, and looking into her girlfriend's gaze only made it worse.

"What's wrong?" Luan asked softly and laid a comforting hand on Maggie's shoulder.

"You know how I feel about...my body," Maggie said.

Luan shifted to face her, one knee bending beneath her, communicating with her body language that Maggie had her full support and attention. A small gesture, but one that deeply touched Maggie nevertheless. "Yeah."

Only two people on earth knew how passionately she hated her biological femininity: Her mother and Luan. She told Luan long ago that she despised her breasts, loathed her vagina, and detested her girlish features. Luan held her hand, listened, and, at the end of it all, said _But I like them. _Maggie reckoned that that was Luan's way of trying to make her feel better, and for a while it worked - if Luan was happy with who she was, she could be too - but it didn't last. No matter how hard she tried to make peace with herself, the uncanny sense of _otherness _took hold. From the time she was a little girl, long before she was sexually attracted to anything or had even heard of gay people, she felt out of place in her own skin, as though it were an itchy and ill fitting garment instead of natural born flesh. Knowing that Luan liked her the way she came assuage the worst of it, but like cold after the dying of a fire, it always crept back in.

"I talked to my Mom," she said, "and next month...I'm having an operation." She looked up and met Luan's eyes. She saw the misty blankness of incomprehension, then the first strands of dawning revelation. "Sexual reassignment. I'm becoming...a...guy."

Understanding filled Luan's hazel eyes, and her lips parted in surprise. "Oh," she said simply and her hand went limp, as though the fight - the fight for Maggie and their love - had run out of her.

Maggie nodded, then all at once, hot, stinging tears flooded her eyes, and Luan's face blurred. She pressed her hand to her face and tried to hold back the sobs as she had a million times before, but they burst from her anyway. "I can't do this anymore," she hitched, "I can't. I can't keep hating myself and...and feeling like I don't belong." The last word broke in two and trailled out like an unfinished thought.

When Luan took her in her arms, she stiffened, then melted into the warmth and safety of her girlfriend's bosom. She buried her face between Luan's breasts and desperately clutched the front of her blouse - holding onto her for as long as she could. Luan sushed her and stroked her fingers slowly through her hair. Gradually, Luan's natural scent and the soothing motion of being rocked from side to side calmed her nerves, and the tears subsided. Shame colored Maggie's cheeks, but she made no move to break from the cradle of Luan's arms.

Instead, she lifted her head and met Luan's eyes, which shimmered like diamonds with tears of her own. A doleful frown rested upon her lips, and she flashed a tentative smile that was captivating despite its pallor. Maggie's heart swelled, and reaching out, she cupped Luan's wet cheek in her hand. Luan's smile brightened, and so, too, did her face like the sun emerging from behind a bank of dark, threatening clouds.

Maggie didn't realize she was speaking until she heard the sound of her own voice. "I love you, Luan," she said earnestly. The corners of Luan's mouth turned up and her eyes filled with light. "You mean everything to me and I'm so glad I found you. You've been there for me in ways no one else ever has and I love you more than words can say. I don't want to lose you..." here her voice faltered and she looked away, unable to see what her declaration would do to the girl she loved. "But I have to do this."

"I know," Luan said evenly, "and I'll be there for you." She drew a deep breath, pregnant with meaning, and let it out. "I like your body, but I like what's inside of it even more. That's the real Maggie, not your boobs. I'm not entirely gay, I can appreciate a good...ya know. Just, uh, don't expect me to put it in my mouth. I don't like them _that _much."

Maggie looked hopefully up, and Luan smiled winningly. "Y-You're really okay with it?" she asked.

Luan considered for a moment, then nodded and brushed her fingers through Maggie's hair. "Yeah, I'm okay with it."

Smiling, Maggie snuggled up to her girlfriend and slipped her hand into Luan's. "I love you," she said again.

"I love you too," Luan replied, "now let's watch that special. I need some new material, I have the strangest feeling my stuff's getting old and no one likes it. Crazy, right?"

Maggie rested her head on Luan's chest. "Yeah," she said sardonically, "really crazy."


	6. Stick Around

Joni C69: I don't really know what it would have been. Probably a boy since out of 70 characters, 67 of them are girls. I don't know if those are the actual number, but really, female characters are overdone and cliche. And I never really thought ahead to Flip dying or anything. The story was going to end, for the most part, with Loan giving birth.

Guest: I've heard of Lois. Not really interested in writing her.

At 3:15, Luna slammed her locker, shrugged into her jacket, and went out into the chilly day through the main door. The trees dotting the sidewalks rustled in the wind and the flag snapped crisply at the top of its pole. Sam leaned against it with her head bent over her phone and her legs crossed in an X. Luna stopped on the bottom of the step to admire her, and a sly grin burst across her lips. Was it just her heart speaking, or was Sam the sexiest thing alive? That could just be the mistaken belief of a girl in love, but hey, did it really matter? When they held hands in public, Luna felt the most overwhelming sense of pride imaginable. Like yeah, look at me. Jealous? I would be too.

With a happy sigh, she went over and waited for Sam to acknowledge her. When she didn't, she went behind her and slipped her hands around her face, covering her eyes. "Guess who," she rasped.

"Janis Joplin," Sam said.

"Nope."

"Ann Wilson?"

"Nah, try again."

"Joan Jett."

"Even better."

Sam hummed.

"She's best of all," Luna said and placed a soft kiss on the side of Sam's neck, "she's talented, hot, and one day she's gonna be the biggest rock star ever."

"Luna?"

Luna took her hands away. "Bingo."

Sam turned and they shared a slow, deep kiss, their hands going to the other's butt and squeezing. Luna pulled Sam closer and their teeth clacked together; they smiled against each other's lips and Sam laughed. "Luna might be the best rocker," she said, "but she's a pretty trash kisser."

"She kisses better when she's kissing other kinda lips," Luna said. She sucked Sam's bottom lip into her mouth, and Sam ran her hands up the back of Luna's skirt, the scrape of her warm palms over her bare legs making Luna's core pinch. She released Sam's lip and they kissed again, their tongues swirling and Sam's nails grazing the fleshy globes of Luna's butt.

Pulling away, Sam cocked her head and lifted one quizzical brow. "You're not wearing underwear."

Luna grinned. "I never do. Easier access."

While that was technically true, the real reason she didn't wear underwear was that it was too constricting. Nothing worse than getting fabric all bunched up in your cracks and crevices.

"You're a naughty girl," Sam teased, "you've earned a spanking." She slapped Luna's butt, and, holding each other close, they both laughed uproariously. Kids passing looked at them strangely, but neither one cared, for when they were together, nothing else mattered. "You still wanna take that walk?"

Deep underneath the fuzzy layer of happiness swaddling her soul, Luna's heart twinged. "Sure," she said even though _sure _was the last thing she could claim to be. "If you're up for it." She said that last part hoping, perhaps, that Sam would beg off, and she wouldn't have to do this for another day or two.

"I'm game for anything at least once," Sam said.

Looks like that wasn't going to happen, which was good. Luna realized she was overthinking this and twisting herself into knots - if she kept on, she'd wind up hopelessly tangled like a fly in a web. Best for her sanity, among other things, to get it over with.

Hand-in-hand, they started to walk, Luna leading the way. At the intersection, she pulled Sam to the right, away from town. "Beavis bother you again?" she asked.

"Nah," Sam replied, "he sprained his ankle in gym and his mom picked him up."

Luna couldn't help snickering. Served him right. "Was it bad?"

"He was crying as Coach Bundy helped him to the nurse's office," Sam said. "Not like boo hoo hoo, but he had tears. I felt really bad for him. He's obviously not all there in his head."

In the street, a station wagon blasted by, chants of "O'Doyle rules!" drifting from the open windows. "I don't think he's like _that_," Luna said, referring to Beavis's mental state. He was awkward, creepy, and a geek of the highest order, but not crazy. "He's just a dumbass."

"I think he's autistic," Sam said.

Luna snorted. "I'll say."

"I mean it," Sam said seriously, "like legit on the spectrum. He acts like it sometimes and it bothers me when people are mean to him. Especially you."

They were at a four-way intersection now. Across the street, Ridgewood Park sloped away from the sidewalk, a wide, green space bordered by trees to the east and west and the Royal River to the north.

"I don't mean to mean to him," Luna said, "it just gets on my nerves that he won't stop hitting on you. He might be autistic but he's not dumb, He knows you're taken."

The pedlight changed and they hurried across. "I know," Sam said, "but still."

"You're just too nice," Luna said, "you gotta be a bitch sometimes."

Sam squeezed her hand. "Dating you, I'm learning from the best."

"I'm not that bad," Luna scoffed.

"You're the biggest bitch in school," Sam grinned.

The grass glistened wetly beneath their feet. Off to the left, kids climbed on playground equipment and mothers watched from benches. To the left, a trail filtered into the forest, and Luna pulled Sam toward it. "Are we going where I think we're going?" Sam asked.

"Maybe," Luna said.

"Maybe?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, maybe."

As they followed the narrow, foot beaten path into the woods, Luna's heartbeat sped up and she swallowed thickly. Tall trees loomed over the trail on either flank, their fading leaves stirring in the damp breeze. The hissing rush of the river sounded from their right, and flashes of it played peekaboo through the undergrowth. Owing to the rain, parts of the tract were muddy and pooled with water. Sam stepped into a puddle and winced. "There goes my sock."

"Wear boots like mine, love," Luna said, "they keep your feet dry."

Fifty feet further on, another path, this one more narrow than the first, branched off and wound up a steep hill. Luna let go of Sam's hand and took the lead. "Coming up here always reminds me of that movie Pet Sematary," Luna said to break the silence. If she let it fester, her nerves would get the better of her and she might balk.

"I hate that movie," Sam said, "It's so sad."

At the top, the trees fell away and the path terminated at a clearing. A single tree stood in the middle. The rise commanded a sweeping view of the river and the gentle pasture land beyond. A white farmhouse huddled in the distance, its grimy clapboard facade screened by trees and its covered front porch edged by tastefully manicured shrubbery.

She and Sam stumbled across the hilltop on one of their many aimless, summertime jaunts through the park. It became "their" spot and they came here often to sit against the tree, talk, and hold hands Luna carved their names into the trunk with a pocket knife once - LL + SS inside a heart - and the elements had already begun to scour it smooth.

"Are we gonna sit in wet grass?" Sam asked.

"No," Luna said, the sound of her voice drowned out by her rapidly pounding heart. She lead Sam to the tree and let go of her hand. Her stomach rolled and panged, her palms perspired cold, nervous sweat. "I, uh, I wanted to ask you something. Something kind of serious."

Sam's features smoothed. "What?" she asked.

Sucking a deep breath, Luna took Sam's hands and stared into her eyes. Speaking from the heart, she said, "The past six months have been the most awesome of my life. I used to think that I wanted to rock out and make all kinds of money...like, that was my passion...but I was wrong." She broke from Sam's gaze and stared at the ground. She wasn't good at bearing her feelings this way. "You're my passion," she said.

A big smile spread across Sam's face and she, too, looked down, her cheeks turning deep and beautiful shades of pink.

"I know we haven't been together very long," Luna said and let go of Sam's hand. "But I can't picture a life without you. In six months, you've become the most important thing in the world to me. As long as I have you, I don't care about music or fame or anything else. Just you." She reached into her skirt pocket and brought out the box. She got down on one knee and opened it to reveal a simple silver band resting on white satin. "When we're older, do you maybe...wanna get married?"

Sam's lips quivered and tears of happiness filled her eyes. She covered her mouth with one hand and nodded quickly. "Yes," she said, "I do."

Heady elation swelled in Luna's chest, and getting to her feet, she took Sam in her arms and held her tightly. Tears streamed down her freckled cheeks and her knees trembled weakly. "I love you, Sam," she whispered fiercely and kissed the side of Sam's face.

"I love you too," Sam vowed.

They sealed their promise with a kiss, then, arm-in-arm, they went forth into the world, not as two, but as one.

And one, as it turned out, they would always be.

**With this story I wanted to do something short, light, and fluffy, and to work with characters and interpersonal relationship dynamics that I hadn't touched on before. At this point, I'm tired of writing Loudcest, tired of doing Lincoln centric stories, and tired, even, to a lesser extent, of writing the sisters. That doesn't mean I'll stop, just that I want to expand and focus on characters you don't see very much of. I may do a sequel that more deeply explores the ships in here, but I can't make any promises. **


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